As I’ve laid here for the past two hours, I’ve realized how wretched it is to be sick away from home. I feel weak, defenseless and vulnerable. I lay here aching, wishing the springs in my bed were not so pronounced… wishing I could shlump into the kitchen and make some soup… wishing I could whine to my mommy and ask her to take care of me.
But here… it’s like I’ve been thrown into battle. I am completely weak, yet I’m expected to fight… alone.
In these moments, it’s easy to be angry…. To wish I was at home, where I am taken care of, where I’m comfortable, and so that I can be with everyone I love and miss so much… it’s easy to ask God “WHY AM I HERE?!!!?!!!” and question whether it’s right or not.
Last night, our sermon was on the prodigal son. As I sat in the sermon desperately trying not to sniffle too loudly or sneeze, he was talking about the son leaving home… and he said
“we’ve all got to leave home sometime.”
At that, I must admit that I set my jaw and felt my eyes narrow… and I wanted to yell at him
“I’M WELL AWARE, BUDDY…I’m here, what else do you want?!?!?!”
… and then I realized, as I keep doing, time and time again…how much God is teaching me. He’s teaching me through my roommates, through my lectures, through my pain of missing home and my family.
I can feel Him changing me, and let me tell you… it hurts sometimes. But when life gives you lemons, make lemonade… and when you don’t like the feeling of God changing you, just wait… because He’s not done yet.
To quote a favorite Brandon Heath song,
"He's not finished with me yet."